“Is there anyone hanging around Deuces who makes you nervous—a client or a coworker you dated, or who wanted a date and didn’t get one? A guy who’s controlling, possessive, or just not quite right? Now’s not the time to protect someone you feel sorry for. Protect yourself.” He let concern lace his voice. Not hard. He was extremely concerned. Duty compelled him to keep her safe, but his desire to do so went well beyond a professional aim to protect and serve. He’d developed a soft spot for this resourceful little stripper with a core of old-fashioned decency.
“There’s something you’re not saying. I can tell.” Knuckle under her chin, he tipped her face up and held her wary, frightened gaze. “Please, talk to me.”
The signs of her indecision played across her face for several moments. Ultimately, though, she shook her head. “I can’t—”
“God, you’re a tough one.” For the second time now he’d convinced himself she was about to trust him.
“I’m not,” she shot back, voice quavering. “I’m so far from tough it’s frightening.”
“Stacy, we can keep you safe—”
“You don’t understand. I can’t tell you anything more because I don’t know anything. I don’t know who killed Carlton Long or the other one…Alex Montenegro—”
“Impressive memory for someone who claims to be terrible with names,” he pointed out softly.
Her expression froze, then shuttered. She pulled away and stood. “I’m leaving now.”
“Fine. We’ll continue this discussion tonight at Deuces.”
That stopped her at the door. She swung around and stared at him. “Detective, I’ve answered your questions. The whole point of coming here this afternoon was so you wouldn’t come to the club tonight.”
“I know.” He smiled as he said it, showing her he wasn’t particularly concerned with her lack of enthusiasm for his company. “I also know you’re our only link between two unsolved murders. So unless and until something else breaks, I’m your new best customer. Better get used to me.”
…
“You’re stoned if you think I’m going to the cops,” Stacy declared with a humorless laugh. “I might as well lock myself up and throw away the key.”
Kylie stopped pacing a threadbare path over the worn rug covering the scarred hardwood of their living room floor and stared at her sister, who sat on the sofa with her cast-encased leg propped on their dinged Ikea coffee table. Having just recapped a high-volume account of
the last twelve hours of her life, her twin’s flat-out refusal to come clean to the police about their switcheroo threw her for a loop.
“Stacy, this is not like me taking your place for one of Mrs. Higgins’s algebra exams. It’s a murder investigation, and I don’t know the right answers. I told them I didn’t recognize Carlton Long’s name, but it looks like a big, fat lie, given he was one of your best clients. The good news is, despite all the holes in my statement, they don’t think you’re knowingly involved in the murders.”
“Good. We’re home free, Ky. Why mess things up now?”
So Trevor doesn’t come to Deuces every night and watch me dance, she wanted to scream, but bit the words back and offered up a more rational explanation. “Because it’s illegal to lie to the police? Because you might know something important you don’t even realize, or maybe have some detail tucked away in your memory that will unlock the case for them? Do you want me to keep going? This is nonnegotiable, Stacy. We’ve got to call Detective McCade, explain what we did, and talk to him. Don’t be afraid. You’re not a suspect.”
Stacy’s face lost every bit of color. Even her lips went pale at Kylie’s words. “No, Kylie, you’re not a suspect. You come across as innocent and trustworthy. They could have found you standing over both dead guys, bloody brass knuckles in hand, and somehow, they’d still believe you had nothing to do with it. I’m different. My whole life, all I had to do was breathe and I’d be accused of doing something wrong. If we come forward now and tell these detectives about our little fraud, I’m screwed.”
And there it was, the crux of her sister’s refusal. “This isn’t Two Trout. These detectives don’t operate on preconceived notions. They look for the truth and back it up with facts. And the fact is, you didn’t commit these murders. But they happened, and you can’t afford to hide your head and pretend otherwise.”
“Please, Ky, keep being me,” Stacy begged. “I’m no good with police. I don’t trust them. Remember how it was in Two Trout? The second anything bad happened, the cops always showed up at our door, wanting to question me. And I always said something wrong, even when I hadn’t done anything wrong.”
Kylie wanted to deny the assertion, but she couldn’t. Their whole lives, her sister had always been guilty until proven innocent. Over the years, run-ins with teachers, social workers, and yes, on occasion, Two Trout’s finest, had formed Stacy’s distrust of the establishment—and those run-ins involved nothing as serious as murder.
As though she sensed her sibling’s wavering certainty, Stacy went on. “You’re handling them so much better than I ever could. Thanks to you, I’m not even a suspect. I promise I don’t have any information that could possibly help this investigation. If I did, I’d tell you. I remember Alex, and I remember Carlton, but I have no idea who killed them. I’m not the link. There’s got to be some other connection the cops haven’t figured out yet. Maybe they will, if we don’t distract them with our situation.”
“Stacy, I’m not trying to scare you, but they think you’ve attracted the attention of a killer. If they’re right, you’re in danger, and as long as I’m pretending to be you, I am, too.”
“We’re not in danger, because I’m not the connection,” Stacy said firmly. “Trust me, Ky, I can spot the freaks from a mile away, and I’ve never gotten that vibe from anyone at Deuces, clients or employees. Besides, if this Detective McCade is at the club every night, what can happen?”
She didn’t want to think about what might happen with Trevor at Deuces every night.
“Please, Ky? Please don’t throw me to the cops.” Stacy wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. “I’ll end up convicted of something. I’ll lose my job.” Tears welled in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. “Afterward, no reputable club will touch me. My performing career will be over before it’s really started. None of this will bring Carlton or Alex back or get anybody one step closer to finding out who killed them.”
Irrational fear had taken control, Kylie knew, but logical or not, her sister really was scared. Kylie couldn’t help wanting to comfort her. She sat on the couch and slid an arm around her shoulders. Stacy covered her face with her hands and leaned in, seeking support.
“Okay,” she sighed, defeated. “I’ll handle the police.”